


the enemy of my enemy

by mala_ptica



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:10:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mala_ptica/pseuds/mala_ptica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet, shifting place in the dynamics of the Brotherhood, long after the events of the movie.  Asteroid M makes a cameo.  All apologies to physics enthusiasts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the enemy of my enemy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PragmaticHominid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PragmaticHominid/gifts).



> written for PragmaticHominid, who always deserves more stories with her favorite characters. This particular fic was a thank you to her for doing beta on my XMFC/Mary Renault crossover, [The Invisible](http://archiveofourown.org/works/615182)

“Is it safe?” she asks, nails touching the glass overlooking the world below. Only inches separate them from the vacuum of space, oxygen from the void, life from death. If she grew claws, could she break the barrier?

“Of course it is,” Erik – Magneto – replies, and is that anger in his voice? “You’re breathing, aren’t you?” and strides off, leaving her to her thoughts. She bristles, weaves herself a collar of fur, and withdraws her hand, frightened.

He’s grown distant, in the past months. They’ve watched his power grow exponentially, but this…Asteroid M, a base, orbiting the earth…it's overwhelming, to say the least.

“Something wrong?” a new voice, approaching softly. She smells the faint trace of smoke on him, and something pulls in her chest.

She and Azazel haven’t spoken much, since joining forces; she still remembers the attack on the CIA facility, she can recall the slick sound of his blades, and the crunch of bone, when he dropped men to the ground.

But she’s heard those sounds in other contexts now, to stop a man, aiming a dagger at her throat. To teleport away a woman, holding a grenade, poised to throw. He’s…protected her.

She doesn’t know what to think.

“I’m afraid this is all going to fall apart,” she confesses, and he leans over her, taps the glass with the tip of his tail.

“Don’t touch that!” She shrieks, and he laughs, a deep, throaty sound.

“Come, krasavica,” he says, and puts out his hand.

She hesitates. “What are you asking?”

“Just trust me.”

“I know better than that,” she snaps.

He doesn’t withdraw, and doesn’t retort that of course she does, she’s trusted him since the moment she let him take her off that beach. It’s not something she’s ready to admit yet, and to his credit, he doesn’t push.

“If I agree, where would you be taking me?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Then where would you like to go?”

Home, she thinks miserably, but doesn’t have the heart to say it, or even define it. Where would home be? With Charles? With Erik? She feels more alone, in two seconds, than anyone had any right to make her.

“Can you take me somewhere I don’t have to be around people?” she asks, and if there’s a stab of grief in her voice, she hopes he’ll be courteous enough not to mention it.

He nods.

She takes his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> (my stellar google skills lead me to believe that "krasavica" means beauty in Russian. not sure if this is true.)


End file.
